


All Worn Down

by phantomreviewer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (and only limited self worth), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Grantaire has no sense of self-preservation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The time for sleep is now / it's nothing to cry about/ 'Cause we'll hold each other soon / In the blackest of rooms'</p>
<p>Grantaire is marginally self-destructive and Enjolras is slightly emotionally distant. But they love each other. And that’s what matters.</p>
<p>This is how they sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Worn Down

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Death Cab For Cutie's "I Will Follow You Into The Dark". (Although not quite as literally as the song can be interpreted.)

Grantaire sleeps curled towards Enjolras, body positioned towards him, so that should he have cause to he could open his eyes from his dreaming and prove to himself that Enjolras is really there, that he has chosen him, even in the heart of the night. That he is still there.

Enjolras sleeps on his back, golden hair tumbling over the pillows and staring at the ceiling until sleep overpowers him. He sleeps with the same ferocity that he wakes, an all-consuming stillness to compensate for his constant conscious movements. 

He doesn’t subconsciously reach out for Grantaire in the night, but sometimes, when Grantaire is sober enough to appreciate the stillness of the moment, he threads his fingers between Grantaire’s before they sleep. And they wake up with fingers still entwined.

This is how it has always been. Ever since they finally fell into the same bed.

Even on that first night, -after the sighs and the words murmured into skin that Enjolras pretends not to hear- Enjolras lies flat, and Grantaire orbits towards him even in sleep.

And so it continues.

*

Grantaire has been quieter than normal on the ride back from the hospital. Grantaire is hunched in on himself, pressing his forehead against the passenger window with the hood of his coat pulled up over the mop of black curls. 

Having rushed to the hospital after Combeferre had told him to stay calm, Enjolras had almost missed Grantaire slumped in the uncomfortable visitor chairs, bruises blossoming around his eyes as his own bright and alert eyes had darted around the room for his partner.

Enjolras’ immediate worry had been sated, seeing Grantaire before him but Grantaire had barely looked at Enjolras but allowing himself to be appraised, embraced and steered towards the car and the path home.

When he turns his head from the road, only for a second, to look towards Grantaire Enjolras can barely see him, buried as he is within his jacket and Grantaire doesn’t look at him instead tracing patterns on the window with his fingers, knuckles scraped raw.

Enjolras speaks under his breath, but he doesn’t expect Grantaire to respond to his words, however much he’d like him too and they drive in silence and the silence continues as Enjolras guides Grantaire into their flat. He knows better than to push Grantaire too far when the man is feeling vulnerable, and Enjolras can’t imagine how he would feel in Grantaire’s place. So he keeps a hand on his arm, trying to assure Grantaire through touch.

He hates that he has to let go, but Grantaire slides past him into the bathroom with his hood still sheltering his face.

This isn’t the first time that Enjolras has collected Grantaire from A&E, but it’s the first time that it’s happened when Grantaire hasn’t put himself into hospital solely due to his own recklessness. Grantaire had been out with Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Jehan, all of them waiting on Enjolras to arrive. Grantaire had gone to smoke, trying to replace one addiction with another, and had at the mouth of an alleyway been mugged. Combeferre had recently got a new phone and that Grantaire was willing to use his own skin as sketchpad and notebook alike was the only reason that the paramedics had a number to call at all. They hadn’t allowed any of them to ride with Grantaire to the hospital, and so Combeferre had waited for Enjolras to arrive and had sat him down and told him.

Now Enjolras lies in bed, the flannel of his pyjama top feeling rough against his collar, waiting for Grantaire to come back to him.

Grantaire always sleeps shirtless, and tonight is no different and Enjolras can see the skin discolouration even under the dull light of the reading lamp.

Grantaire folds himself into the covers of their bed without looking at Enjolras, but Enjolras can see that Grantaire’s face and the tips of his hair are wet. Trying to wash away the events of the day no doubt.

“Shall I turn the light off?”

Grantaire makes a sound in the back of his throat, which accompanied by the swift nod Enjolras takes as approval and as he leans over to flick the switch he feels the bed shift under Grantaire’s movements.

It takes his eyes a second to accommodate for the change in lighting, but once he has, on looking back to Grantaire he sees an unexpected mess of black curls.

Grantaire has turned his back on him, and is curved away.

And Enjolras realises how serious this is.

“Grantaire?”

There’s no response.

The bare and mottled shoulders before him are shaking, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate before reaching out a hand to lay on them.

Grantaire’s skin is cold underneath his palm, and Enjolras doesn’t even think before crowding into Grantaire’s back and pressing his chest to Grantaire’s spine, letting his arm snake over the naked curve of his side reaching out until he captures Grantaire’s quivering hand in his own.

Grantaire’s fingers grip tightly into his own, as though he’s scared that Enjolras is going to disappear into the night, yet he doesn’t turn to face him. 

Wary of the bruises and scrapes to Grantaire’s skin Enjolras presses a kiss to Grantaire’s shuddering shoulder, leaving his lips brushed against the mottled skin as though he can breathe life back into him through sheer force of will.

“I love you.”

Grantaire’s silent sob catches in his throat and he speaks for the first time that evening, and although his voice is a husk of what it normally is Enjolras savours the words like they’re the works of Voltaire.

“I know.”

Enjolras knows that for Grantaire to accept his love without question is rare, not because Grantaire doesn’t love Enjolras in return, but because he doesn’t love himself.

So Enjolras tucks his chin over Grantaire’s shoulder and breathes the rhythm of Grantaire’s stifled whimpers back to him and tightening his grasp on Grantaire’s hand until they sleep.

And they wake up with fingers still entwined.

**Author's Note:**

> (I tried to write an essay and this came out instead. I hope it was worth it? Many apologies for any obvious mistakes!)


End file.
